


Heatless?

by yozra



Series: Sonance of Metal [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Apothecary!Iwaizumi, Automaton!Akaashi, M/M, Minor References to Death, some dystopian land in the distant past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 06:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Akaashi is beginning to break down, but not for the reason Iwaizumi thinks.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Iwaizumi Hajime
Series: Sonance of Metal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527425
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	Heatless?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yikescaninot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikescaninot/gifts).

> @yikescaninot: thank you for sticking with my initially-cute-turned-weird stories since I began writing Haikyuu!! fanfics - you're an amazing writer, an awesome reader, a scary cheerleader, and I'm really lucky and grateful to have gotten to know you♡

“It is easier to move the rock than the heart. What then, if the rock and heart are the same?”  
  
Iwaizumi didn’t look up, just hoisted up the box on his back – the jostle made its residents clink and chatter in surprise – and tugged the ends of the fabric to tighten the knot at his chest. He slipped his hand under the woollen cloak and dug into the leather bag hanging by his waist, blindly rummaging past the small pouch with its heavy jangle, the bundle of maps softened around the folds, his personal scripture with its bumpy grains, and – finally the item he was looking for – sheaves of paper barely clinging together to be called a notebook, a pencil in place from his last note that began at the top of a new page.  
  
He jotted the comment down.  
  
In the beginning the outburst that broke their wordless trek caught him by surprise, and he asked for an explanation but his new travelling companion said nothing, having sunk back into thought. Another comment made a few weeks later while Iwaizumi marked off supplies and he scrawled the comment on the top corner of the page, which gave him the idea of recording them. A year and a half and Iwaizumi thought nothing of it, just wrote it down and carried on until a time when his box was set down and he sat slouched over his notebook, herbs and inventory and location and instruction all blurring together, and he would flip to those comments trying to make sense of it all.  
  
Before, the mutters were spoken once a month or two. Nowadays, he was concerned if he didn’t hear it after three days. Iwaizumi didn’t know anything about machinery, but he guessed it to be a fault in the system growing worse.  
  
Thinking about it, Akaashi had been a lot noisier in his steps, his clatters triggering frantic rustles from creatures in the forest as they scarpered. Iwaizumi glanced at Akaashi’s feet treading a few feet across from him with measured steps that would be precise to the last grain; he lifted his feet heavily and the left footprint embedded itself deeper into the ground than the right.  
  
“We’re stopping.”  
  
Iwaizumi put the book away and rifled through the maps, pulling one out for their surrounding area. He traced the route they had been taking, around the sapphire lake of splashed ink into the smudged forest of herbal sauce, which stopped at the ominous blood-brown villages splatter-clustered around a gorge stabbed into the edge of mossy-grey plains resembling the peaky-looking sky looming over them; they were a short distance to the detailed illustration of buildings with looped handwriting above, effortless and carefree, that read:  
  
_Cupola (The Forgers’ Joint)_  
  
But the city had been flame-struck, holed and singed, and three heavy black scores crossed the official name out, three more under the word ‘Forger’s’, and scrawled beside it, rushed and jagged—  
  
_Crematory_  
  
“Did you not say you have to return home and replenish supplies?” Akaashi asked over his shoulder.  
  
“We’re close to the city,” Iwaizumi said, folding the map. “You’re getting checked out.” He shot a look daring him to say one word against the idea.  
  
With the cloak’s hood down, solid, cold, metal-blue stared back, unblinking and defiant. The mass of inky hair that looked to have been dipped strand by strand in tar and finished with lacquer contrasted with skin as ashen as their surroundings and added extra depth to the judgemental black look thrown in reply.  
  
Iwaizumi straightened, holding back the wince as the shift strained and tugged his muscles; he raised his head and lifted his chin higher – ‘no’ was not an option.  
  
Neither moved.  
  
Akaashi blinked first and looked away. “Very well,” he said, and began walking west of the direction they had originally been heading. Iwaizumi stared after him, at the tilted pace – with a heavy sigh he began to follow.

* * * * * * * * *

With night closing in fast, they made a stop at the last village before the city, Iwaizumi deciding to spend the night in comfort after days of being numbed by biting cold despite knowing the cost for boarding would be extortionate. Thankfully they were in the season apothecaries were sought after; while Iwaizumi didn’t like to bless the misfortunes of others, he had to admit the extra income was welcome. Remedies for all sorts of ailments – actual and fabricated – were in high demand and people were looser with their purses and even more so with their trust when they feared death placing its hand on their shoulder. He could almost skip the twenty-minute self-promotion and, failing that, reluctantly pulling out his golden pass, which he hated resorting to with a passion.   
  
(The pass that fitted snugly in the palm of his hand, one side filled with a squiggly, loopy and completely illegible signature that doubled up as an autograph (much to Iwaizumi’s disdain), and on the other a message – _I, Oikawa Tooru, declare Iwaizumi Hajime to be a genuine apothecary, a soother of ailments, and I would entrust him with my life so naturally you would be a fool not to, and honestly if you decide not to believe him you really do deser—_)  
  
But people didn’t notice the words (often), they cared about the ink in its endless flow following the strokes and joins, brought to life by a feathered nib held by a person whose sole intent was to lay bare the innermost workings of the mind and heart combined; too much mind and doubt began to creep into the truth, too much heart and the truth became blind to the subtle whispers of other truths that countered the first and flipped it into a lie. The pen and ink drew the line on what was acceptable, and once that line was crossed combusted in the writer’s hand, forever besmirching them as a liar.  
  
It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘caught red-handed’.  
  
Iwaizumi scanned the shops – a bakery with its shutters closed, an inn as dimly lit as the hazy mauve skies – and finally a sign he had been hoping to see hanging on the other side of the street – automaton repairs.  
  
“I refuse to step foot in that shop.”  
  
Iwaizumi glanced back at Akaashi, a hooded figure stopped in the middle of the street like a begrudging reaper resisting the command to wash his well-worn cloak, and polish his equipment that had finally adapted to his mannerisms. Had it been a more trusting world people would think him suspicious. Here, he was just another mistrustful person.   
  
Iwaizumi followed suit and stopped. “What’s wrong with it?” He glanced back at the building with the crumbling red bricks and flaking paint job, the windows blackened by soot – he could probably have chosen his words more wisely.  
  
“They will not understand my mechanism.”  
  
Luckily, Akaashi always managed to pick out points that were off from Iwaizumi’s expectations.  
  
“They’re professionals, they’ll figure you out.”  
  
“You are second to my creator who knows me best.”  
  
Iwaizumi drew out a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was cold. He was tired. He didn’t need backtalk from metal with attitude. “We’ve been through this. I know nothing about automatons, or machines, or—”  
  
“OY!”  
  
Iwaizumi turned to the sound coming from the shop they were standing in front of – another blacksmiths by the pile of scrap metal outside – a large man with dyed-blond hair and the beginnings of a dark beard charging up to them.  
  
“You ’n your partner wanna take your racket elsewhere? You’re scarin’ off customers.”  
  
Iwaizumi glanced in both directions in case he had missed something. A few people were dotted about in the distance. “What customers?”  
  
“Oh, you think you’re real funny—”  
  
A dull squeak came from Akaashi and Iwaizumi cursed his timing. Ignoring the man, he turned to Akaashi. “We’re going into that shop—”  
  
“Hold up.” The man stepped towards the cloaked figure that was Akaashi, eyeing him suspiciously. “You an automaton?”  
  
“What’s it to—”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Iwaizumi shot Akaashi a scowl he knew the automaton couldn’t see but would guess he was being given. They had been through this countless times before – no answering anything sincerely.  
  
So naturally, the next thing Akaashi did in response to the disapproving vibes sent in his direction was to lift his hood and let it fall back, revealing his face.  
  
Iwaizumi had to hand it to the man who didn’t back off, just let his gaze wander over the being that pretended to be human. “Got a heart in ya?”  
  
“He’s an automaton—”  
  
“The odds of anyone speaking to an automaton as though they are able to converse fluently is minimal, further, it would be considered absurd to imply automatons have a heart. Therefore I must ask – what was the name of the one you encountered?”  
  
The man scratched his beard. “Bokuto.”  
  
“Bokuto.” It spilt softly from Akaashi’s slightly parted lips as if he revered the name. “When did you last see him?”  
  
“I’d say… little over a month now. Was making his way back to his creator with a friend of mine. Last I heard they were heading for the Fox’s Den—”  
  
Iwaizumi grew alert. “The Vulpine Mountains?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s right,” the man said defensively. “You got a problem with that?”  
  
“I don’t, but they will. No one makes it out of there alive—”  
  
The man snorted.  
  
It riled Iwaizumi. “Take it from someone who’s spent years travelling, no one in their right mind steps into the foxes’ territory. If you don’t speak the truth, they kill you—”  
  
“He doesn’t hold back on the truth,” the man said with a shrug.  
  
“If you insult them, they kill you.”  
  
“He’s… mostly careful with his words,” the man continued to insist, though his expression had clouded. “He’s the politest guy I know.”  
  
Iwaizumi didn’t think that meant much coming from him.  
  
“They hate automatons.”  
  
The man stared. “Could’ve just started with that.”  
  
“Nothing and no one is a match for Bokuto,” Akaashi interrupted, voice unwavering. There was another metallic groan echoing from inside, as though one of the parts had to compensate for the forceful conviction.  
  
Iwaizumi turned to him again. “We’re going to that shop—”  
  
“Don’t wanna do that for a first-class automaton like this one, they’ve only put that sign up to try ’n draw in more work.”   
  
Iwaizumi returned his attention to the man, watching and listening for any hint of a lie.  
  
“If you’re headin’ into the city, stop by the repair shop my friend owned, they’re specialised in automatons. Both of them workin’ there’ve had a look at Bokuto and are good with a hammer. It’ll take you another day to the north gate, and a good part of the day to get through to the other side if you’re walkin’.” The man paused. “You can stop here for—”  
  
“No.”   
  
Iwaizumi stopped at his hardened reply and to soften it up added, “Thanks.” It still felt lacking, so he searched for a better reply. “Nothing personal.”  
  
He was grateful for the understanding nod. “Take the inn around the corner, their food’s got flavour. Repairs is by the southern gate – ask around for Mo—” Another cloud, blackened and stormy, swept over the man’s face; worry flashed between his brows before the look passed into calm acceptance. “Better ask for Koganegawa or Aone, just in case. Tell them Kamasaki sent ya.”  
  
That was a lot of information the man was providing for free, and the thought settled unbalanced on Iwaizumi’s chest.  
  
“Akaashi, the bag.”  
  
Iwaizumi grabbed the bag Akaashi held out, containing all the necessities to survive his travels, and Iwaizumi dug in, pushing aside bundles of material until his fingers touched polished wood; he gripped the small box and pulled it out.  
  
He always kept remedies for personal use separate from those he sold, and took the small jar in the bottom left corner.  
  
“Something to curb the winter cold,” he muttered, holding it out. “The wind’s carrying it this way.”  
  
The man frowned, eyeing the gift suspiciously then flicked his gaze from Iwaizumi, to Akaashi, and back to Iwaizumi, and his clothes, and the box on his back; he slowly reached out and slipped it out of Iwaizumi’s hand.  
  
“’preciate it.”  
  
Iwaizumi gave a nod, then shoved the box back into the bag, handing it over to Akaashi.   
  
“Let’s go.”

It had been years since Iwaizumi set foot on the soot-dusted bricks of the city. The air was so thick with metal he could almost feel the grains grinding against his tongue, and the clangs resounded too loud in his ears almost sparking stars in his vision – he wished for the lush greens to soothe his growing agitation.  
  
But Akaashi was his responsibility and he had neglected him for too long. It struck his scruples; he was a man who darned his clothes and oiled his boots, made sure not to waste a single cutting of his herbs, yet his metal companion had reached a point where his difficulties had taken physical shape. That mistake was on him, and he would fix it.  
  
“I believe we are here.”  
  
Iwaizumi blinked himself out of the daze, staring up at the metal gates that must have been eighty-feet high, bolted with screws the size of his fist, eight panels framing the central, totalling nine depicting scenery from the lands; they matched the number of maps Iwaizumi had in his bag. At the top was welded ‘South Gate’.  
  
After some wandering and questioning the locals, they stood outside a blackened building, smaller than the one they had seen in the village. Iwaizumi shot Akaashi a glance; not a single word of complaint as he stood staring.  
  
Iwaizumi marched up and opened the door, immediately coming across a man kneeling at the centre of the room, setting a leg plate onto a full bodied automaton.  
  
“Looks like the right place,” Iwaizumi muttered. He took a deep breath – the metal grains tickled his throat and he burst into a coughing fit.  
  
By the time it subsided the man was on his feet towering over him, and Iwaizumi remembered one of the reasons why he avoided this city – everything and everyone made him feel small.  
  
Iwaizumi cleared his throat and tried again. “Kamasaki sent me this way. Are you Aone or Koganegawa?”  
  
The man’s expression didn’t twitch. “Aone.”  
  
Iwaizumi nodded to Akaashi. “He’s the same model as Bokuto. Can you take a look?”  
  
He only had first impressions on which to base Aone’s character, but he guessed shock wasn’t an emotion that could be seen often.  
  
“Sorry!” A voice called from the open doorway at the back. “Repairs? Dismantling? What did you want?”  
  
A man rushed out wiping his hands on his apron that did nothing to rid the blackness on the hand he was holding out for Iwaizumi to take.   
  
“Oh – introductions! I’m Koganegwa!” Before Iwaizumi could react, the man was grabbing his hand and shaking it hard. His gaze then slipped onto Akaashi. “Is this your automaton? What type is – OH.”  
  
Iwaizumi turned to see Akaashi removing his cloak.  
  
“Are you—”  
  
“The same as Bokuto.”  
  
Koganegawa’s jaw dropped and he instantly dropped Iwaizumi’s hand (now also blackened) to rush and take Akaashi’s, the metal rattling violently with his energetic shake.  
  
“Wow! You’re not like Bokuto at all! The hair! The build! The—” Koganegawa dropped his hand too, then stepped back and crossed his arms, cocking his head. “How are you alive?”   
  
_Not again._ “He’s an automaton—”  
  
“But nothing’s glowing.” Koganegawa looked to Aone who gave a nod, and returned to Akaashi. “Can I check your heart?”  
  
Akaashi carefully unbutton his shirt and – as Iwaizumi watched Akaashi push against his chest to reveal a door, he realised he had never asked about showing him the inside. He put the reason down as pointless – he knew nothing about automatons.  
  
Koganegawa peered in. “Thought so! See this here?”  
  
Koganegawa looked expectantly at Iwaizumi, so Iwaizumi shuffled closer to peer into… darkness. A moment later and it was being lit up by a lantern held by Aone.  
  
The light danced and circled with the moving parts and though nothing made sense to Iwaizumi he could tell that the person who crafted this took his time and gave care – it wasn’t something that could be made rushed. He flicked a glance to Akaashi’s face who looked indifferent.  
  
“This glass here” – Koganegawa tapped the oval shape at the centre bringing Iwaizumi to attention – “spreads out in all directions – here, here, here, down here, round the back here – see how it looks like there’s metal cooled inside? Bokuto’s was all molten.” Koganegawa peered into Akaashi’s eyes. “Eyes are solid, too.”  
  
So he had been faulty.  
  
“Can you repair him—?”  
  
“Koganegawa.”  
  
Aone walked off to the side, a silent order to follow so they could talk amongst themselves, and one Koganegawa complied by running up to him.  
  
“Is it meant to be... molten?”  
  
Akaashi stared at the ground, another moment of thought. Iwaizumi shifted so he was directly in his line of sight.  
  
“Akaashi—”  
  
“Okay!” Koganegawa’s voice broke the silence; Iwaizumi exhaled loudly through his nose and turned to him.  
  
“I’ll be running the initial checks, I’ll talk it over with Aone, and then he’ll take over depending on the damage. It’ll take the rest of the day and probably tomorrow morn—”  
  
“Had I shone as brightly as a star, would that have been enough to push the rocks and send them falling, to allow the spring to gush forth like a fountain?”  
  
The room fell silent. As always, the comment didn’t take Iwaizumi by surprise; he had a feeling one was due.  
  
Koganegawa cocked his head. “What?”  
  
“He does that,” Iwaizumi said.  
  
Koganegawa was also in thought for a moment. “So anyway, Akaashi, go through to the room out back and I’ll check you out!”  
  
Akaashi shook his head as if to clear his head and walked in the direction Koganegawa pointed.  
  
“He comes out with these outbursts,” Iwaizumi said, stopping Koganegawa from following. “I think he’s broken.”  
  
It was one thing to think that last part in his head and another to say the words out loud, and the words tasted acrid on his tongue, like a concoction gone wrong.  
  
Koganegawa straightened and bowed deeply. “I’ll make sure to check every corner!”  
  
As Koganegawa rushed out, Iwaizumi thought maybe he was just as broken – he had never met anyone so enthusiastic about… anything.  
  
People like him existed, the overly positive radiating optimism, any form of criticism bouncing off them like they had an invisible repellent coating them outside and in. It made everyone recoil further into the shadows and leave them outcast, though people were more forgiving when they showed exceptional skill.  
  
He was probably—  
  
“Neither are broken.”  
  
Iwaizumi turned to Aone who was back to crouching by the automaton he had even working on, lightly jostling the screws in the box as he searched inside. He expected him to elaborate, but received nothing more.  
  
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”  
  
Aone looked up and acknowledged his plan with a nod.  
  
Iwaizumi stepped outside in the busy bustle, without the company of Akaashi for the first time in a year and a half. It was odd and like he had been freed of a burden, and he had never felt more alone.

Iwaizumi found himself a room at an inn three streets away, and he lay back on the soft bedding, flipping through his notebook. Tonight his mind wouldn’t leave Akaashi, and he ran his eyes repeatedly over past phrases.  
  
They were always to do with nature. Specifically earth or water. And out of these, rocks and springs appeared the most.   
  
Strange, he thought, coming from a machine.  
  
But the words weren’t sinking in, just floating jumbled as he pushed them into his head and shuffled them around, hoping they would set themselves into coherence. When that didn’t work he flipped to the front of the book that was a cross between journal entries and collections of general notes, which had no specific system.  
  
The first entry of his fourth book had been a couple of months before meeting Akaashi. He skimmed forward to the day that mattered, waking up to a room he didn’t recognise with pain running through his left arm and clustering around his wrist, and a man he didn’t recognise coming into view telling him his automaton had found him.   
  
He didn’t need to read his writing to remember his thought: it hadn’t been enough that he disliked the moving metal, he had to owe his life to one, too.  
  
The memory before was hazy. The descent through the mountain forest had been a gentle slope that didn’t require assistance from branches and tree trunks for a healthy person to grip. But his mind had been drifting between finding his next footing on the ground loosened with rain and wanting to crawl into bed, face flushed from the beginnings of a fever and brain muddled by medication. He had pushed himself to finish one last stretch, a stupid idea that – thinking back now – should have killed him.  
  
The ground had slipped from beneath his left foot and he skidded – the weight on his back pulling him down sideways and a loud crack had him crying out to a background of shattering glass, his whole weight bearing down on his wrist twisted at the wrong angle. He slid a few feet down and took a few breaths to collect himself, but when he tried to push off the ground pain gripped him, wound itself around his nerves and forced him down. So he lay there, cheek on the damp soil, pleasantly cool even as bits of soggy bark and twig pressed into his skin, lulled by the earth’s comforting scent of birth and decay.  
  
He closed his eyes; at least here he could return to the earth instead of being thrown into the furnace.  
  
There was a blank after that, though he remembered waking once, to the sight of two blue-green flames that looked like they belonged to a forest spirit of the dead, and he had time to wonder if they had come to collect his soul before he passed out again.  
  
Iwaizumi frowned, pushing himself off the bed. Those flames – what had they been?  
  
It had been Akaashi who found him, so it made sense for him to be owner, but when he next saw Akaashi two days after he regained consciousness he had no light in him.   
  
Earth and water. Rocks and spring.  
  
Rocks. Spring.   
  
The very things that made his name.  
  
He flipped the book to the very first thing Akaashi had said, written in the top right hand corner with his table of supplies marked and crossed—  
  
_Could the result of sitting on a rock for three years be accomplished in two?_

From the distance, the window bore no light when Iwaizumi ran to the repair shop, though as he pressed his hands and face to the stinging glass he could see the back door alight in dim orange. He banged his fist on the hardwood door; his hand began to smart after the first twenty times, and he continued for at least twice as long when the handle turned, the door opening a crack and Aone peering through.  
  
“I need to see him.”  
  
Iwaizumi waited as Aone gave him his level stare; finally he pulled the door wider, inviting him in and Iwaizumi pushed through, made his way through to the back where Akaashi sat like a broken doll, chest open and parts grouped on the floor.  
  
For a second Iwaizumi thought he was under, until Akaashi raised his head and blinked at his visitor.  
  
“I believe by morning they were referring to after daybreak—”  
  
“What happens to you in a few months?”  
  
Akaashi remained motionless. Expressionless. He could be dead and Iwaizumi would never know the difference.  
  
“I will cease to move. The exact timing will depend on the strenuity of our activities.”  
  
With Koganegawa’s assessment and the first of Akaashi’s comments, Iwaizumi had reached the same conclusion. To hear Akaashi say it so matter-of-factly squeezed his chest.   
  
“Your eyes were blue-green when I first met you.”  
  
Another pause. “Yes.”  
  
“And that flame’s your life source.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then how are you alive right now?”  
  
“I am controlling the energy to cool from the outside in, thus allowing it to continue travelling around my being. However, the pipes are shrinking to the extent the energy cannot make its way around fast enough for my movements.”  
  
That could only mean one thing—  
  
_He’s not repairable._  
  
“Why are you cooling?”  
  
As if the cold metal wasn’t enough of a barrier, Akaashi closed his eyes. “That is personal.”  
  
It was the first time Akaashi had outwardly refused to answer his questions.  
  
Iwaizumi wasn’t that stupid, no matter how many times he caught Akaashi throwing him a look that suggested otherwise. “What did I do?”  
  
“I do not wish to—”  
  
Iwaizumi dropped to kneel in front of Akaashi, gripping his arms, rattling the metal; Akaashi opened his eyes in response.   
  
“You helped me once. Let me help you now.” In the reflection of Akaashi’s eyes he could see the alarm written in his set jaw and the deep furrow of his brows.  
  
In contrast, Akaashi’s reflected ennui. “You speak thusly because of the nature of your profession, and also because you despise the idea of being indebted to a machine. Your belief that helping me will ease your conscience is misconstrued – it would lead only to more suffering on your part as you would have to bind yourself to me on a more permanent basis than the mental shackle with which you have temporarily imprisoned yourself.”  
  
“I—”  
  
“I am aware of what you think of me, I overheard you speak to my creator. ‘Humans trust automatons the same way they trust a chair to hold them while they sit – they’re just another functional object; they’re soulless, hollow, and void of life.’ Therefore I wish to fulfil my part of the oath, and then I will rest in peace—”  
  
“What oath?”  
  
“The oath I swore to guard you.”  
  
“I didn’t ask you to guard me. That’s what’s keeping you here like this? Break the damn thing!”  
  
Akaashi’s metallic glare grew colder. “Our oaths are absolute – to break it results in our immediate termination and I will not dishonour myself so.” He closed his eyes once more. “It is an oath I swore when I found you on the ground, and I made it knowing this would be the most likely outcome. I do not regret my decision. I thrust myself into your life on impulse and I will retract myself quietly out of it.”  
  
Iwaizumi clenched the shirt hanging open and he caught sight of Akaashi’s open chest. The lamplight didn’t reach the parts and it was black as a starless, moonless night. What would it look like with those flames coursing?  
  
“What do I need to do?” Iwaizumi asked quietly.  
  
Akaashi opened his eyes “Excuse me?”  
  
“What do I need to do to get your heart pumping again?”  
  
Akaashi looked away.  
  
“You will not be able to save me.”  
  
“Because of what I said?”  
  
“Yes.” There were laboured scrapes and Iwaizumi chased the source of the noise to Akaashi’s hands that twitched like he wanted to curl them. “People are stubborn. You, especially, are more stubborn than most. While I doubt your dislike towards me is at the same intensity as when we first crossed paths, it has not escaped my notice that you continue to keep your distance and interact only when required.”  
  
Iwaizumi reached for Akaashi’s hand, half as a reflexive act towards any he treated clinging onto the end of their lifeline, half to prove to Akaashi that he was wrong, that Iwaizumi didn’t keep his distance, not when it mattered. His coarse hand was cold, as expected from an automaton. But this wasn’t Akaashi functioning at his peak.  
  
“Tell me what I need to do.”  
  
“I just said—”  
  
“That I’m stubborn.” Iwaizumi looked him in the eyes – the soulless eyes, hollow and void of life – because that’s what they were right at this moment in time. “I can sit here all day and night until you’re ready to spit it out.”  
  
Neither moved.  
  
Akaashi blinked first and looked away. “You must swear an oath in return.”  
  
“I’m weaker, human – I can’t protect you.”  
  
“It is… not the same oath.”  
  
“Then _what_?!” Iwaizumi cried, gripping Akaashi’s shirt once more and shoving him with a clatter – he froze. He strained his ears for dissonance and when he heard none slowly released his breath.  
  
“My heart functions relative to a heart,” Akaashi said calmly.  
  
Iwaizumi loosened his hold, eyeing him suspiciously. “You need to take my heart?”  
  
“It is figurative. I would need you to give up your heart – emotionally. Unconditionally. Indefinitely. It is what we need to function. It is how we are.”  
  
Iwaizumi had first given himself to the earth, to botany and herbology so he could learn and respect nature’s yield that changed with the subtle cycles within cycles of the seasons and time. He had second given himself to the people, to finding remedies and relief for the ailing and assisting their recovery. His job was thankless; he received none from nature as he plucked at her plant organs, and none from his patients, haughty and demanding. But just as he considered throwing it all away, he would encounter one who would be so filled with gratitude it replenished his will to the brim and he would set off again to repeat the process.  
  
Could the third be to a combination of the two – a human spirit trapped within minerals birthed by the ground, a specific kind of metal who was a quiet and undemanding being, said nothing against the toils of his trade, a little defiant when he thought he knew better but always surrendered the last word?  
  
“What then?”  
  
“You would have a lifelong partner in the form of an automaton. Should you feel yourself distancing from me, I will eventually shut down albeit at a more rapid pace. It is an oath between us.” Akaashi paused. “As I mentioned, it is how we are. To be created as a human is to be as human as much as possible, except unlike the complete freedom humans possess to exercise their will, we may only exercise ours within our programme. We are, after all, still a machine.”  
  
To Iwaizumi, this ‘change’ sounded no different from how they interacted now.  
  
“How do you seal the deal?”  
  
“Verbally would be adequate.”  
  
“But?”  
  
“The conjunction is unnecessary.”  
  
“I know what ‘adequate’ means. The bare minimum. That you can live without, but you’d want more if you had the guts to say. So what comes after?”  
  
There was a groan from the mechanism, as though one of the parts was rousing from sleep.  
  
“Our kind are as unique from each other as yours – what is desirable to one is dispensable to another. Considering Bokuto, for example, he would demand everything, and he found someone willing to offer everything of themselves and their world to him.”  
  
“What are you demanding?”  
  
Akaashi looked down at his hands. “I am… merely inquisitive. My desire is to collect every available information, which includes emotions, joyous or otherwise, in their infinite number of combinations. It is how I measure potentials, estimate reactions, calculate outcomes. But I am also aware of the impossibility of such a feat, therefore if certain experiences remained unavailable to me it would have little-to-no impact on my overall state of well-being. In fact, in this case I can only choose one or the other – connection or isolation. I do not mind—”  
  
“You do.”  
  
A year and a half, and Akaashi had kept himself alive for as long as possible without showing any hint of what was happening inside. He would need more than the drive of accumulating knowledge to sustain him, knowing it would all be for nothing.  
  
“I stated already – we do not lie,” Akaashi said coldly.  
  
“Then you’re bending the truth by hiding behind detachment. Give me one line that sums up exactly what you want.”  
  
Iwaizumi waited in the silence, gave Akaashi all the time necessary to form an answer that he would think would have Iwaizumi backing away.  
  
“I wish to connect with you in every possible meaning of the word.”  
  
In his travels, Iwaizumi snatched whispers and glimpsed the private lives of individuals through their surroundings and others’ behaviour, so he knew the general consensus regarding relationships forged with automatons.  
  
He didn’t condemn the people who decided to do so. To begin with, it was none of his business. But putting that aside, he considered it to be similar to the way he grew attached to objects indispensable to him; his box of remedies, his mortar and pestle, his battered notebooks buried at the bottom of his bag save for one readily accessible in his small travel bag. Sometimes it was healthy. Sometimes it bordered obsessiveness. And sometimes people loved their objects so much they could never bear to part with it. Naturally, that attachment would come easier when those objects appeared human – even more when they sounded or acted human.  
  
Akaashi though, he was nothing like any of the other automatons Iwaizumi had met, and his emotional capacity went beyond the heartless people who cared little for each other. And this frightened him. Not because Akaashi was too human to be called an object.   
  
Because Iwaizumi didn’t know how to properly form a relationship with anything that had a mind of its own.  
  
“I apologise for causing you discomfort. I repeat my initial statement that you cannot—”  
  
“You can have it.”  
  
Iwaizumi didn’t know. But perhaps Akaashi would be willing to guide him with his acute observations and precise guesstimations.  
  
The sounds from Akaashi slowed and softened.  
  
“Take it. Emotionally, physically, any shape or form for as long as you need.”  
  
Akaashi still refused to move. Iwaizumi racked his brains, wondering if he had missed something.  
  
“You need it,” he clarified, frowning at why Akaashi wasn’t jumping at the opportunity. “I’m giving it to you.”  
  
“You say that because you have yet to understand—”  
  
“I know I used you. I treated you like metal that happened to talk more than usual and was good at carrying baggage. I almost made you irreparable and would have paid to have you thrown away when you met your end. That’s how we’ve been trained to treat each other. But if I didn’t want you with me I would’ve left that cabin alone and ignored your questions on if you can join me. If I really despised you like you think I do, I wouldn’t feel like I owed you anything, like I wanted to do something for you in return. That’s how I want to treat others. Both the good and bad are the way I treat other people. People, Akaashi. Do you get what I’m saying?”  
  
Akaashi lowered his head, refusing to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, resisting his persistence.  
  
So Iwaizumi crouched further, closer, until their eyes met again and Akaashi had nowhere left to run.  
  
“You need an oath? I, Iwaizumi Hajime, swear that from now on you are the sole owner of my heart, so long as it still beats. Hell, you can have it after it’s stopped beating too, gods know I won’t have a use for it. So you damn well take it, Akaashi.”  
  
Akaashi closed his eyes – a clang echoed from within, rattled and vibrated, and Iwaizumi thought he had said the wrong thing as he held his breath and watched the workings inside.  
  
There was nothing at first. No change until – a blue tint shone on the parts to give the impression they were formed of lapis lazuli. At first it was dark and raw, until the solid grey inside the glass began to dissolve into ribbons of green and blue twisting and writhing to shed the skin that had held them in irons for so long.  
  
It was like fumbling through a dark cave and finding an opening that led him to a glistening room of precious stones.  
  
Iwaizumi knew nothing of automatons. But he knew this was nothing he could ever see in most of the automatons he passed by.  
  
He looked up, finding the same two flames he had seen in the forest that fateful day.  
  
“I remember that,” he whispered. “I didn’t think it was you.”  
  
The light in Akaashi’s eyes dimmed, wavering, and Iwaizumi could finally place an emotion – hesitant.  
  
“Our contract is complete. There is no need for further agreements.”  
  
Iwaizumi cupped Akaashi’s face. It was now Akaashi who was warming his hands that had chilled in the night air. He ran a thumb across Akaashi’s lips – a little chapped, but soft – and then brought his thumb against his own lips – a little chapped, but soft.   
  
On the outside they were no different. Whoever had made him made sure he looked real enough for the simple human mind to be tricked. The ethereal eyes were the only reminder that they were constructed through different means, but even as his mind comprehended what Akaashi was, he couldn’t bring himself to treat him any differently than he would himself.  
  
“I can’t give you everything you want right now because I’d do it out of duty. But there’ll come a time I will and it’ll be because I want to. I don’t have the same ability to always tell the truth so you’ll just have to trust that I’ll keep my word.”  
  
At last, the blue and green swirled, dancing and in joy, and he watched, mesmerised, unable to pull away.  
  
“Iwaizumi Hajime. I know you will keep that promise.”

* * * * * * * * *

“Everything’s bolted, straightened, tightened – he’s all fixed!”  
  
Iwaizumi still had to get used to Koganegawa’s enthusiasm, but he gave a nod and put the coins onto the table. “I appreciate—”  
  
“You’ve overpaid.”  
  
He looked to Aone. “It’s a tip. For the trouble we caused.”  
  
“What trouble?” Koganegawa asked.  
  
Koganegawa’s reaction – and Aone shaking his head back at him to say it was nothing – confirmed to Iwaizumi that what had happened during the night was kept quiet.  
  
Aone picked four of the heavy gold coins, holding them out.  
  
Iwaizumi reached for the coins and stopped short of taking them. “Was your friend the same?”  
  
He searched for disgust, or pity, or mourning over the living embracing the ‘dead’; Aone’s face gave nothing away.  
  
“He was happy.”  
  
A grin crept onto Iwaizumi’s face as he took the coins. “I’ll make sure to spread the good word and come again if anything happens.”  
  
Aone gave a nod of acceptance.  
  
Iwaizumi said no more as he left to step out onto the bustling street, coming to stand next to the figure under a black hooded cloak as the door cut off Koganegawa’s loud farewell with a dull thud.  
  
“It would seem rocks do float and leaves do sink—”  
  
“Are you seriously going to keep up with the proverbs?”  
  
The figure turned to face him. From Iwaizumi’s angle (not because he was shorter, but because Akaashi was too tall) he could see the two dotted flames, currently darkened blue, a contemplative mode. “I cannot control the manner in which I process my thoughts.”  
  
Iwaizumi shook his head and pulled out his notebook as he had always done, scribbling the words down.  
  
“Are you going to continue recording my words?”  
  
“I guess I will, so long as you keep spilling them out.”  
  
A dissatisfied hum accompanied him putting his notes away.  
  
“Hajime.”  
  
Iwaizumi stopped short. Not even his oldest friend dared call him by his given name.  
  
“I apologise, I overstepped—”  
  
“No. You call me by that name.”  
  
“Very well. Hajime, I wish to thank you again for what you did.”  
  
Iwaizumi turned away from Akaashi with a frown, feeling an unnatural fever creep up his neck.  
  
“I got it the first time you said it. And the seven times after.”  
  
“My renewed ability to gauge shifts in emotion informs me that I have embarrassed you. If you wish for me to tone down—”  
  
“No.” Iwaizumi shook his head. “Don’t hold anything back. Never hold anything back from me again.”   
  
He paused, deciding to conduct his own test.   
  
“Keiji.”  
  
Iwaizumi looked up, finding blue and green streaking like feathers in a breeze, tickling his heart and making it flutter.


End file.
